Resistance and Survival: The Jewish Community in Kaunas 1941-1944
246
Resistance and Survival: The Jewish Community in Kaunas 1941-1944
246eBookSecond Edition, Second edition (Second Edition, Second edition)
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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781771610483 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Mosaic Press |
| Publication date: | 01/01/2011 |
| Sold by: | INDEPENDENT PUB GROUP - EPUB - EBKS |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 246 |
| File size: | 5 MB |
About the Author
Co-translator of English edition.
Co-translator of English edition.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
SHATTERED DREAMS
Lithuania was the birthplace of my parents and of their parents before them. It is also the country in which most of my relatives were murdered during the German occupation between 1941 and 1944. It is not my intention here to wail over the tragedy that befell our family. I would like, instead, to offer a portrait of a family whose members were an integral part of the Lithuanian Jewish community that was destroyed during the Nazi occupation.
My father's family was originally from Jurbarkas, a small port town on the Nemunas River. There, my grandfather, Leiba Ginas, ran the shipping business that his father-in-law had begun. His cargo vessels transported goods along the Nemunas River to and from various parts of the Russian Empire and Germany. Around 1890, Leiba and his wife, Zlata Giniene, moved to Kaunas with their three sons and one daughter. They bought an apartment house on Mapu Street 5 and had two more sons, my father, Juozas, whom everyone in the family called Josif, and his younger brother, Samuel. Although the Ginas family were not particularly religious, they kept all the traditions of the Jewish faith. Every Friday night, they dressed in their finest clothes to welcome the Sabbath, which they observed reverently. They attended synagogue and served only kosher food in their home. As their children grew up and got married, they all lived in flats in my grandparents' house. Two of my father's older brothers immigrated to the United States around 1920, before I was born, and for a while the brothers kept in touch with their relatives in Lithuania. At one point they even sent Samuel a shipkart (a ticket) to join them in America. But Samuel, wary of making such a long and mysterious voyage, did not go. Instead, he married Berta and they had two daughters, Zlata and Bronia Ginaite, who both went on to graduate from the Hebrew High School in Kaunas and study at the university in Vilnius.
By the time my father's eldest brother, Chaim Ginas, died, leaving his wife Mina Giniene and their two young children, Joske and Leibe Ginas, my grandparents had already passed away. Unfortunately, all three died before I was born and so I never knew them. When I was small, my parents, my sister Alice, and I lived in my late grandparents' four-room flat and, for a while, we shared the apartment with our widowed Aunt Mina and her sons. From what I can remember, the apartment was heated by a wood stove and had plumbing, but it wasn't very cozy and was quite cold in winter. Also, while I certainly enjoyed the attention of my older cousins, it was not a comfortable living arrangement for my parents and in the early 1930s, we moved out. By 1939, on the eve of the war, Mina's older son, Joske, was about to get married and the younger one, Leibe, was doing his Lithuanian military service.
My father's sister Chava married a railway worker named Shaya Ginzberg and they had three daughters and a son. Chava died quite young of breast cancer and Shaya never remarried. By the mid-1930s, two of their daughters, Fruma (Fanya) and Ester (Asya) were already married. Fruma married a medical student, Isaac Glikman. When he graduated and finished his residency, the couple and their baby son, Leiba (Liova), moved to the small town of Seredziai where Dr. Glikman was physician to the town and all the surrounding villages. He would travel throughout the countryside in his horse and buggy, tending to the sick, treating the children and elderly, delivering babies, and personally driving serious cases to the hospital. Dr. Glikman worked in Seredziai for more than five years and was highly respected and much loved by his patients. But, he and his family became homesick for their families and the big city, and so returned to Kaunas. By then, Fruma's youngest sister, Basya Ginzberg-Shwartz, had graduated from the Hebrew High School and was studying at the university in Vilnius. Fruma and her family joined her there in 1940. The Ginzbergs' only son Moishe, and his wife Masha, had immigrated to Palestine and their daughter Eva Ginzberg was born in Tel Aviv. In 1939, the family was visiting Lithuania and was forced to remain in Kaunas when the war began.
My mother's family, on the other hand, had always lived in Kaunas and we were very close to them. My grandfather, Gutman Virovichius. He was a very tall, good-looking, and well-read man who liked to listen to music and the news on the radio. As a young man he had worked as a tailor but eventually had opened a delicatessen and wine store. My grandparents lived in an apartment house on Maironio Street which my grandfather had bought before the First World War. They were very religious and the family belonged to a small synagogue on the same street where grandfather went almost every day to pray. He loved his Shul where he and his friends would sit, debating Judaism and politics, and chatting about family matters. Every Sabbath, my grandparents would dress in their best clothes and I can still see them as they slowly made their way to the synagogue, holding hands and thoroughly enjoying each other's company.
My grandfather loved to tease his grandchildren. Before going abroad on business trips, he would promise to send us very special presents. We knew very well he was only teasing but when he returned we would always ask for our gifts. "What," he would ask, feigning surprise, "you didn't receive them? I'm sure they're on the way. Be patient." Although we knew the presents would never arrive, we would look up at him in wide-eyed astonishment as though wondering how our precious gifts had gotten lost. Then our dear grandmother would give each of us one or two litas and we would run happily off to a movie or to buy ice cream.
During the summers, my grandparents spent their holidays at a resort in Kulautuva on the Nemunas River, where my sister and I often visited them. How exciting the two-hour steamboat trip from Kaunas was for us. Grandfather would meet us at the pier and take us home where grandmother was waiting for us with a delicious dinner. We spent our days picking berries and mushrooms with our grandfather in the ancient pine forest and, in the evenings, he told us stories of God's great wonders and of the history and fate of the Jewish people.
My mother had four brothers and one surviving sister. Most of the Virovichius clan lived in all but two of the flats in the apartment house on Maironio Street. The two remaining apartments were rented to Jewish families. In the basement of the house lived the janitor, Mykolas Kaminskis, and his family. They were the only non-Jews living in the building. My mother's eldest brother, Isaac, his wife Anya, and their two small children lived in a luxurious apartment building at Vytautas Prospect 28, owned by Anya's wealthy relatives, the Hirsh Klis family.
My mother's second brother, Salomon Virovichius, his wife Zina, and their daughter Nadya, who was my age, lived in a two-room flat in my grandparents' house. My mother's two younger brothers, Abraham (Abrasha) and Liova Virovichius, both strong Zionists, lived with my grandparents and studied at Kaunas University. Only ten years older than my sister, Liova was everyone's adored uncle. He clearly enjoyed his young nieces' company and entertained us with a constant stream of stories and bought us ice cream and candy. Often, he would take me along when he went to his student fraternity. In 1936, Liova married Basya Heleryte, my favorite high school physical education teacher. All the other girls in school envied me now that our beloved teacher was my aunt. My joy seemed limitless.
In 1935, Abrasha Virovichius immigrated to Palestine and, in early 1936, my grandfather passed away. Liova went regularly to the synagogue to say Kaddish (the Jewish prayer for the deceased) for his father and I, wanting to spend more time with him, often went along. But in the late fall of 1936, Liova and Basya also immigrated to Palestine. Officially, Basya traveled as part of the Lithuanian team participating at the Hebrew world sporting tournament, the Maccabi Games, and Liova Virovichius went along as a representative of the delegation. They never returned.
A year or two after Liova left, my grandmother traveled to Palestine to spend some time with her sons and their families. She traveled by train through Germany and Italy, where she boarded a boat sailing to the port of Haifa. My grandmother enjoyed getting to know Palestine and became very fond of Abrasha's young wife, Fanya, whom he had married in Palestine. After spending several months with them, she insisted that the young couple come for a visit to Kaunas so Abrasha could introduce Fanya to his relatives and have a break from the hot Palestinian climate. In the summer of 1939, the young couple arrived in Lithuania, planning to return to Palestine in the fall. The outbreak of war forced them to remain in Lithuania.
Although our family was not orthodox, we upheld all of the main Jewish traditions and celebrated all the holidays at my grandparents' home with the entire Virovichius family. My grandmother, Malka Virovichiene, a small woman who loved to cook and bake, would make all sorts of goodies and let us children play as much as we wanted. During the holidays, my mother, Rebecca, was happy to let my grandmother take over the responsibilities of the household.
The most memorable holiday for me was Passover. I remember the beautifully set table graced by a plate of sweet fruits, honey, bitter herbs, and the somber symbolism of a bone, scraped clean. According to tradition, when my grandfather returned from synagogue, his 'royal seat', padded with cushions, was waiting for him. He would wash his hands, sit down in his special chair, and lean back against the pillows. This marked the beginning of the celebration. He would read the Haggada, the Passover stories, and it was my role as the youngest to ask the four questions, each of which began the same way: "What makes this night different from all other nights?" Grandfather would reply that when we were slaves in Egypt, the prophet Moses led us out of slavery into the Promised Land where we became a free people. Every year he would always end by saying that he hoped we would all meet in Jerusalem next year.
Then, the feast's first course of stuffed fish, herring, and chopped liver would be laid out on the snow-white tablecloth. This was followed by broth and various other dishes made from matzo. We drank wine and honey nectar as the candles burned slowly in silver candlesticks. It felt safe and good. After my grandfather's death, our dear grandmother tried to preserve the traditions he had led, but his 'royal chair' remained empty. I continued to ask, "And what makes this night different from all other nights?" and the men seated around the table would answer: "We were slaves, but the prophet Moses led us out of Egypt into God's Promised Land."
Apart form being a religious holiday, Passover is also a celebration of spring and the rebirth of nature. It was usually warm at that time of the year in Kaunas and during the holidays, when almost all of the Jewish-owned businesses were closed, the Jews of Kaunas dressed in their nice clothes and went for leisurely walks. The entire city seemed to be celebrating the liberation of the Jews from Egyptian slavery. As children, and later on as teenagers, we also strolled in large groups along Laisves Aleja, the Freedom Avenue, where young people liked to congregate. Often, we would stroll up to Azuolynas Park where we spoke of the things that preoccupy all young people. We shared our dreams and disappointments, told each other the details of first love, and confessed our fears of betrayal and hopes for the future.
To this day, Passover celebrations hold a special place in my heart and memory. After the war, I tried to preserve for my own family the traditions I learned and loved at my grandparents' home. But the possibilities for doing so were quite limited under the Soviet regime. Still, I made sure that my children grew up knowing of our people's slavery in Egypt and of their liberation. Instead of bread we ate matzo, stuffed fish, and chopped liver. I am very happy to have lived to see the day when our entire family, small as it is, gathers every year at my youngest daughter Anya Rubinsonaite-Sorkin to celebrate the Passover Seder. My granddaughter, Riva, asks her father, who sits in his 'royal chair': "What makes this night different from all other nights?" And Fima Sorkin answers, "We were slaves. Moses delivered us from Egypt and led us into God's Promised Land. Now we are free. Israel is an independent country and we can meet in Jerusalem whenever we choose."
My parents, Josif Ginas and Rebecca Virovichiute (Giniene), met in Kaunas around 1913, shortly before the First World War, and then my father went to France to study engineering at the University of Grenoble. He returned to Lithuania in 1915 to marry my mother after she graduated from the Polish high school. I had an extremely close relationship with my father and it was to him that I revealed all my secret thoughts and wishes, including my intention to study medicine at Kaunas University. We shared a keen interest in economics and I was fascinated by his business activities. I avidly followed the progress of his negotiations with foreign firms and studied his correspondence with them. Often he confided to me that it was difficult for Jewish firms to obtain government import licenses and sometimes he was forced to cancel contracts.
He took me to the Jewish theater and I was never happier than when he took me to a nearby restaurant, The Rambynas, where we always ordered freshly cooked crab. After our meal, we would walk arm in arm down Laisves Aleja. Not yet 50 when the war broke out, he always looked very young and elegant. As we walked along together, he might have been mistaken for my boyfriend. It pleased him that I read the Jewish newspaper and he often talked to me about his youth, his two brothers living in America, and the early deaths of his sister and eldest brother. Every night, without fail, he came to my room to wish me sweet dreams. My older sister was very close to my mother. It had seemed to me that mother loved her better. She pampered Alica, buying her expensive clothes and giving her the most comfortable room in our apartment. Theirs was a strong mutual affection that lasted until my mother's last days in the German concentration camp at Stutthof.
Both of my parents were fluent in Yiddish, French, German, and Russian. While my father also spoke Lithuanian quite well, mother spoke it with a Polish accent, peppering it with Polish and Russian words. Father was the representative of several foreign companies that sold imported raw materials to large factories in Lithuania and he had strong commercial ties to Lithuanian businessmen and textile factory owners. Politically, he belonged to the Volkspartei, or People's Party, which was officially registered as the People's Cultural and Educational Association and he subscribed to the newspaper they published, the Volksblat. My parents were active supporters of various Jewish cultural institutions and events, like the Jewish theater.
Like most of the other middle class Jewish families living in Lithuanian towns and villages at the time, the Jewish community in Kaunas had an intense and vibrant cultural and social life, and cherished its cultural and educational traditions. There were numerous Jewish organizations, associations, volunteer groups, and unions. We did not socialize much with the Lithuanians and my father's interaction with Lithuanians was limited to practical and business matters
In the mid-1930s, I completed Lithuanian elementary school and studied in a private Catholic high school, Ateitininkai, for a year. But I was not comfortable there. I felt like a foreigner among the wealthy Lithuanian students who, along with their parents, were puzzled by the fact that a Jewish girl was enrolled in the Catholic high school. After a rather unsuccessful year there, my parents transferred me to the private, newly established, Kaunas Jewish High School. The school provided a strong foundation in the humanities, Jewish religion and history. Even though every subject was taught in Lithuanian, the language we used only in public places, it offered Latin, German, English, Hebrew, and Yiddish, the mother tongue of most of the Kaunas Jews. Although this school catered to wealthy Jewish children who had boycotted and left the German high school, it did not support any specific political position. Our parents were simply concerned that we learn Lithuanian and English so that we could study abroad and be able to live and work in Lithuania. All my friends and teenage relatives attended one of the Jewish high schools. We spent our free time with each other, going to 'our' skatingrink or participating in sports at 'our' Maccabi club. We attended all sorts of events at 'our' high schools, from amateur theater performances, lectures, and dances to sports tournaments. Only those Jewish teenagers who had attended the Lithuanian public schools or were studying at the university or one of the other post-secondary institutions mingled more with Lithuanians.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Resistance – and – Survival"
by .
Copyright © 2005 Sara Ginaite-Rubinson.
Excerpted by permission of Mosaic Press.
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Table of Contents
Foreword,
Introduction,
Historical Prologue,
Part One: Persecution,
Shattered Dreams,
Face To Face With Death,
Mirroring The Evil,
Part Two: Return To The Dark Ages,
Moving Into the Ghetto,
The Terror Continues,
Slave Labour,
Part Three: Resistance In The Ghetto,
The Anti-Fascist Organization,
Ready for Armed Resistance,
From Ghetto Resisters to Partisans,
Part Four: Our Partisan Detachment,
First Missions,
Back to the Ghetto and Return to the Forest,
Escape from the Ninth Fort,
New Missions,
Women of Our Detachment,
Part Five: Destinies,
The March to Vilnius,
In Memoriam,
The Final Days in the Kaunas Ghetto,
The Fate of Our Family,
The Fate of Lithuanian Jewry,
Endnotes,
Appendix,
Bibliography,
Index,